The Potion Master's Apprentice
by fhestia
Summary: An unusual illness brings the Potion Master and his apprentice together in the search of a remedy.
1. Chapter 1

I leaned over one of the four cauldrons, feeling moist warmth against my face as I absentmindedly pulled a stirring rod through the clear yellow mixture. The cauldrons had been set up precisely at sunrise, one at each point of the compass, and the base potions had been simmering in each for three hours. We needed to begin and very soon. Even ten minutes more and the bases would begin to reduce and we'd have to discard them and start fresh the next day.

I perched on one of the stools at the worktable to read through my notes again, smoothing the parchment that was curled and wrinkled from the damp air. I'd prepared everything I could. The table was covered with phials and wooden bowls and flasks arranged in precise order; Aquafolium, Birch Milk Cap, Marbled Cinquefoil, Powdered Domite...

Only two months remained of my two-year apprenticeship, and thanks to a thorough and exacting education, I possessed the ability and the confidence to brew all the potions in the Master formulary. All the potions, that is, except the one we would complete today: Elixir of Sanguinarium. In the past month I had studied and practiced every step in its complex preparation over and over until I was certain I could do it in my sleep. But I couldn't do it alone.

I glanced over my shoulder toward the workroom door. He still hadn't arrived. My stomach did a little flip and I took a deep breath to calm myself. He would be here, of course he would. My nerves were running away with me.

I eyed the most crucial ingredient, the single Peruvian Creeping Bloodroot, where it squirmed and pulsated in a tightly capped jar. This was the only step I hadn't been able to practice. The bloodroot, exceedingly rare and prohibitively expensive, could only be harvested during the plant's annual two-day bloom time. We were able to procure only one, which left absolutely no margin for error in its preparation. I could do nothing but wait on him.

From behind me, I heard the door of the workroom open slowly, and then a heavy tread on the floor. I turned quickly in my seat, thinking for a moment someone else had entered. Normally he moved so quickly and lightly he made almost no sound at all as he walked, but today he moved at a laborious pace, his feet dragging. I tried to meet his eyes, but he avoided looking at me as he moved past, unfastening the clasps on his cloak and hanging it on a nearby peg.

I sat, watching him carefully, awaiting his instructions. I knew better than to expect an explanation or an apology for his late arrival, but neither was he one to waste time when there was a potion to be brewed. After a quick inspection of the room, he took his seat at the work table with a sigh, his expression blank and inscrutable.

"Everything seems to be in order," he said, and his voice, normally smooth and resonant, sounded hoarse. "Shall we begin?"

He extricated the bloodroot from its container while I stood nearby. He held it carefully between his hands, and spread it out on the scarred and ancient-looking pewter plate which would keep it inert while he worked. Separating the internal bloodroot vein from the encasing fibrous matter was delicate, fiddly work and one miscalculation or slip of the knife would render both the root and the potion useless. Although the work wasn't entrusted to me, my stomach still roiled with nerves. He sat absolutely still with the knife poised over the root. The dissection would require as much mental focus as it did manual dexterity.

The first cut was delicate, precise and perfect. He extended the incision gently with the fingers of his other hand, exposing the course of the greenish-grey vein within the root. I watched from my position across the table, holding my breath as he deftly sheared away the tough fibers enclosing the vein. Once started, the cut had to be continuous. If he lifted the blade even a fraction, the vein would immediately constrict and retract into the fibers of the root and be nearly impossible to free.

I stood and made a circuit of the room, pulling the stirring rod through the cauldrons six times clockwise and four times anticlockwise each and then set the rod aside. I stood near him as he worked, off to his left where I could observe and be at hand if he needed assistance. He sat with his head bent close to the table, the only discernible movement that of his right hand as he worked slowly and steadily through the root.

Half the vein was out now, and the freed section squirmed and twisted in a horrible manner. I gently pinched the end of the vein, pressing it to the plate until it stopped moving. He nodded his approval, and as I was withdrawing my hand, I heard him sniffle once and then again. I tensed and stole a sideways glance at him. His eyes were closed, his hands still, his forehead creased in concentration. Then he blinked furiously and shook his head. From my vantage point I could see his eyes were tearing up badly and he was having difficulty focusing on his work.

Without thinking my actions through, I snatched a towel from a nearby neatly-folded stack.

"Professor," I said quietly, trying my best not to startle him.

"What?"

"Turn your head towards me."

He looked over, his expression one of mingled frustration and puzzlement until when he saw what I held in my hands, then his face hardened and he looked quickly back to his task at hand.

"Please," I said. "You won't be able to continue otherwise."

He sighed and looked toward the ceiling. I carefully dabbed at his streaming eyes, trying to keep from transferring any motion that might cause his hands to slip. When I finished, he returned to his task and I stepped back. Although I knew I should be watching his handiwork, learning how to extract the vein from a Peruvian Bloodroot myself, I found myself watching his face instead.

With a quick twist of his wrist, he made the final cut and plucked out the bloodroot vein whole. He had done a masterful job and now the remainder of the preparation was my responsibility. He had lectured me on the proper procedure so often, I could hear his voice in my head as I reached my hands towards his: A lengthwise cut, then run the tip of the blade along the root halves to extract all the juice; divide each section diagonally into equal thirds, then pulverize the proximal sections with a silver mallet. He transferred the still-quivering vein to me and then turned and rose from his chair, heading directly for the small storeroom.

I startled when I heard a thud and then the sound of bottles and containers rattling against each other. I turned my head, watching helplessly as he sank to the floor of the storeroom. I could do nothing but glance at him occasionally as I finished my task. While I worked, he didn't try to stand up and I found myself beginning to worry. There was definitely something very wrong here.

I added a preservation charm to the pieces of root when completed and carefully approached the spot where he sat with his head bowed.

"Professor Snape, what is it?"

He looked up at me, his face paler than usual.

"It's nothing," he said. "Give me a moment and we'll continue."

"Let me help you up," I said.

He ignored me as he used the ornate edge of a heavy wooden cabinet to pull himself upright. He stood silently for a moment, massaging the bridge of his nose, a pained expression crossing his face.

Are you ill?" I asked, even though it seemed unlikely. In the two years of my apprenticeship he had never been ill, not to my recollection, and we'd worked together on a near-daily basis.

To my surprise, he admitted it readily. "Yes. With an ill-timed, inconvenient, damnable cold."

I hid a quick smile behind one hand. Only a cold, but he still sounded quite sorry for himself.

"You should have taken Pepperup."

"Have you learned nothing at all during these exceedingly long months as my apprentice?"

_That you're a stubborn prat who occasionally misses the most obvious solution? _

I merely raised my eyebrows and remained silent, waiting for him to continue.

"The Pepperup steam contains remnants of the potion. Sanguinarium is volatile and we cannot run the risk of contaminating it, not if we value our lives."

It seemed quite a flimsy excuse to me, as we were already working under a powerful protective charm to shield the cauldrons from any possible contamination, but he was feeling surly and I didn't wish to provoke him.

"As I understand it," I said cautiously, "the condition remedied by Sanguinarium hasn't been contracted for over two hundred years."

"Your point is?" He tried to sound haughty and intimidating but couldn't quite carry it off while sniffling.

"It wasn't absolutely essential that we brew the potion today. It could have waited until you were feeling better."

"Left whole, the bloodroot would have lost its efficacy in three days," he said. "And now that the vein has been extracted and prepared, it will be rendered useless in four hours."

"It just seems a waste," I said. "when it can't actually be _used_ for anything."

"Sanguinarium can be maintained indefinitely under stasis. And have you forgotten you cannot earn your Potions mastery without completing it successfully?" He studied me for a moment, with a look he usually reserved for his first-years. "I take your education quite seriously, even if you do not."

I bristled immediately. "Not take it seriously? How can you possibly say that when..."

I stopped when I recognized what he was doing. It was so typical of him. When faced with a subject he did not wish to discuss, he employed the three D's: dismiss, divert and deflect.

"Nice try," I said, moving to the worktable and taking up the stirring rod again. "But you won't change the subject that easily."

"Impudent," he muttered, beginning the identical stirring motions within the other cauldron.

"Then it seems potion brewing isn't the only thing I've learned under your tutelage."

This earned me a huff of impatience and, to my surprise, a quirk of his lips that could almost be described as a smile.

"Moon fern," he murmured, just as I lifted the glassine envelope from the table. "Bring it to a rapid boil and lower the flame immediately."

"I know," I snapped, poking the skimmer into the surface of the potion with more force than necessary.

"After boiling, the foam must be removed immediately before you add the hellebore."

I made an impatient gesture toward the skimmer in my hand, gritting my teeth in annoyance. Why did he insist on lecturing me as if I were an ignorant student? I made a few passes through the simmering liquid, lifting the yellowish scum from the surface and depositing it in a nearby bowl.

"Don't discard the foam," he reminded me, "You'll need to reduce it for use in the third stage."

I ignored this. Unfortunately, just as I turned my attention away from him, he sneezed loudly, startling me. I nearly dropped the skimmer into the cauldron and as I grabbed for it, my hand contacted the surface of the roiling potion.

"Damnit!" I snarled, snatching my hand away. Even at a simmer, the potion was caustic and I studied the red welt forming across my knuckles. I stomped to the sink to run cold water over my hand. I needed the time to rein in my temper before I tried to speak.

I was quite aware that had I been the one sniffling and sneezing all over the workroom, I would have found myself out on my arse in the corridor in short order, but our relationship wasn't one of equals and I couldn't very well tell him to return to his quarters for a much-needed dose of Pepperup and a nap. I would have to approach the subject subtly and tactfully, so it would seem like his idea in the end. I took a deep breath and turned towards him.

"You're no good to anyone this way!" I blurted out in exasperation.

_Well. So much for tact and subtlety._

He went completely still. I froze in place, backing up against the edge of the sink. After working together so long, we shared a certain familiarity, but I was conscious of having stepped over a line. He crossed his arms, eyes narrowed and I swallowed in sudden fear. No, this was bigger than a step. I had taken a huge, running leap across an uncrossable line and all I could do was wait for the fallout.

"You're right." he said.

Suddenly conscious of my mouth hanging open in surprise, I closed it quickly as he continued.

"And if you don't know how to prepare a simple four-point base without assistance by now, then we've both wasted our time."

"Why don't you return to your quarters, take a dose of Pepperup and sleep off the aftereffects?" I said, perhaps a bit too eagerly. " I have everything well in hand for the time being and the next three or four hours will be tedious."

"I hate Pepperup," he muttered, with a dark look at me. "A child's remedy. What self-respecting adult wants to be left steaming at the ears?"

"It's that or endure a miserable cold for a week."

_Making me suffer along with you_, I added silently.

"I doubt it would even work at this point," he said, sounding sulky, although his expression betrayed nothing.

There was no mistaking it. He was feeling sorry for himself and decidedly so. Over the years, I'd watched as he endured endless lectures to ungrateful students, brutal working hours, all with utter stoicism. Who knew a simple cold would be the chink in his formidable armor?

I watched with some trepidation as he moved to the row of pegs and removed his cloak.

"You will be back later?" I asked.

He obviously needed to rest, but I still quailed at the thought of being left entirely alone. For one thing, the workrooms still frightened me a bit unless someone was nearby.

"As capable as you are," he said, shrugging into his cloak, "you still cannot brew Sanguinarium entirely on your own."

Had he actually uttered the word 'capable" as applied to me? Coming from him, that was such high praise as to border on the ludicrous.

_Delirious,_ I decided._ Probably a very high fever._

I returned to the cauldron in the south corner and began to stir the potion, the intricate pattern of movements nearly instinctual now. From the corner of my eye, I saw him pause in the doorway, one hand gripping the door frame tightly. In our long acquaintance he had by turns provoked feelings of exasperation, intimidation, even fury, but for the first time, I felt simple sympathy for him. He looked weary and miserable, even from the back.

"Professor," I said, my voice loud in the silence.

He said nothing, didn't turn around, but I noticed his shoulders tense in expectation. Now that I had his attention, I couldn't bring myself to say any of the inane things running through my mind.

"Never mind," I sighed.

He glanced over his shoulder, and perhaps I imagined it, but he appeared almost woebegone. Did even implacable, emotionally distant men appreciate words of comfort?

As he left and I listened to his echoing footsteps slowly fade, I regretted my unspoken words.


	2. Chapter 2

Fifteen minutes.

I pushed away the timepiece I had been consulting feverishly for the past hour and jumped down from the stool. I paced the room restlessly, stopping to lean out of the doorway, looking hopefully in both directions. The corridor was deserted and everything was eerily quiet, save for the faint echo of water dripping somewhere. Unsettled, I withdrew into the work room to consider my options.

The four-part base was complete. It could stand at a simmer for another fifteen minutes before I would be compelled to begin the complicated process of transforming a simple base into Elixir of Sanguinarium. We would need to work in tandem. He knew this. So where was he?

I fidgeted, tapping my fingers impatiently against the table top. My concern for him had evaporated long ago. Now I was feeling only annoyance and anger. How could he do this to me? _Why_ would he do this to me?

"Unless..." I said, thinking out loud, the word echoing in the room.

_Unless he _couldn't_ make it back._

I warded the door to the work room, not strongly enough to keep him from entering on the off chance he returned before me, but strongly enough to keep meddling students away. If I walked briskly, it would take a few minutes to reach his personal quarters. I'd be cutting it very close.

As I walked, I kept breaking into a little half-run every few steps while my mind worked anxiously. What if he were seriously ill? What if he were in his quarters and I couldn't rouse him? What if he were in the Infirmary and I couldn't reach him in time? W_hat if, what if, what if_ was the frantic rhythm to which my feet were moving and before I knew it, I was nearing the main Potions classroom.

I burst through the door and entered at a run, withdrawing my wand as I flew by the lectern. I came to a skidding stop when I reached the interior of his office, feeling dazed for a moment at my easy entry. When had he ever left his office door unwarded and unprotected?

"Professor Snape?" I called, casting my wand light around the room. My heart hammered hard in my chest and not just from the exertion of my hurried walk. As my eyes went to the timepiece on his desk, I cursed under my breath. Not much time left, but I couldn't leave now, not until I checked on him.

I paused at the door to his personal quarters. I reached out my hand tentatively and felt no repellent surge from a protective ward. I pounded on the door.

_Let him be annoyed, let him shout at me, just let him be okay._

When there was no response, my worry and fear overcame my hesitation about entering his rooms unannounced. I quickly turned the latch and swung the door open before I could change my mind. I'd deal with the consequences later.

I glanced around the darkened interior anxiously. Despite years of working side by side, learning each others' habits and rhythms in the work room, this was my first time in his personal quarters. I was more jittery than curious and gave a quick yelp of fear when I saw his form suddenly silhouetted in the doorway.

"Professor Snape, I am so sorry to barge in like this, but you didn't come back and your door was unwarded and..."

He made no acknowledgment of my presence, took a few staggering steps in my direction and banged open a door directly to my right. I moved quickly to the doorway, my mind barely registering the fact that he was slumped on the floor, head hanging over the toilet.

I don't know how long I would have remained there staring at him, but a wrenching moan spurred me into action. I wet a cloth at the tap and folded it. Stepping behind him, I pressed it to his forehead. With my other hand, I lifted the sodden hair from the sides of his face as he gave a convulsive heave. His shirt was soaked with sweat and the back of his neck was damp. He was retching hard enough to turn himself inside out, but was bringing nothing up. He'd obviously been at this for hours.

"Have you been sick all this time?" I spoke gently as he collapsed back against the side of the tub. Either he didn't question my presence in his quarters or he was too ill to care because he answered me in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Only since I took a dose of Pepperup." He was quivering from fatigue as he spoke, his voice weak and thin.

I knelt by him, using the cloth to bathe his face. To my surprise, he submitted to the attention with no protest.

"Why didn't you let me know?"

At that he took the cloth from me and pressed it to his eyes. "There was nothing you could have done," he said finally.

The pieces began to click into place.

"You don't have a cold, do you?" I said, the horrible realization dawning on me. "It's Occamy Flu. I didn't even think about it."

"Nor did I," he said, a hint of regret in his voice, "not until it was too late."

"You should have gone to the Infirmary," I said, feeling inordinately guilty for suggesting Pepperup to him in the first place. Occamy Flu at its onset is often mistaken for a cold, but if Pepperup is taken, it causes a violent and prolonged reaction.

He swallowed convulsively and clenched his jaw. He clearly was in no shape to discuss it and I had no time to waste.

"Can I help you back to your bed?" I asked. It seemed a rather intimate suggestion but a necessary one, because he didn't appear as though he could make it very far unassisted.

He ignored my question and clambered slowly to his feet. Walking gingerly to the sink, he leaned against it heavily as he splashed his face and rinsed out his mouth. I noticed his legs were trembling and he caught my eye in the mirror, appearing none too pleased with my observation. I shrugged a quick apology.

He blanched then and a pained expression crossed his face. I performed a neat sidestep and managed to dodge out of his way as he lunged for the toilet again. I had known from the moment I awakened it would be an eventful day, but never did I imagine I this, kneeling on the floor beside him, murmuring words of comfort while he was sick.

When he was settled more or less comfortably against the tub again, I checked my watch and my heart gave a lurch in my chest. Only three minutes left. I would have to drop everything and run if I had any chance of completing the potion, but it seemed unimportant now. I couldn't very well leave him sick and shivering on the floor. As if reading my thoughts, he fixed me with a glare.

"Go," he said. "You're competent enough to work on your own."

"But you're ill," I protested, even as my mind marveled over the word _competent_. "You can't expect me to leave you like this."

"It's precisely what I expect. You cannot allow sentimentality to interfere with your responsibilities." He wiped the sweat from his upper lip. "If you don't return now, the blood root will be useless and we won't have the means to obtain another until next season. Your apprenticeship will be delayed by a full year."

My own legs started trembling now, but I tried to speak bravely. "I needn't remind you that once I begin, the Sanguinarium will be highly volatile until its completion. I won't be able to take my attention from it for a second. One slip-up and I could reduce the work room to a smoking pit."

Not to mention I was scared to death to proceed on my own.

"And I'm not sure I can concentrate properly, knowing you're this ill."

"You can," he said, closing his eyes to signify the conversation had ended. "You've proven yourself before."

He needed to say no more. I turned on my heel and shot through the door, barely taking the time to shut it in my haste to reach the workroom.

* * *

My vision was blurry from staring into the depths of the cauldrons. My arms ached and my legs felt leaden, but it was finished. Six hours of intense work and now the completed Elixir of Sanguinarium sat steaming gently before me. I had finished it, on my own.

I quivered from a combination of fatigue and shock. I expected fireworks or a string orchestra to accompany my achievement; instead, all was silent except for the quiet burble of the potion. I viewed it critically, trying to remain objective. The potion was viscous, clinging to the sides of the cauldron, and the same greenish-grey color as the blood root vein. Perfect, at least in appearance. One test remained.

I ladled a sample from the cauldron, capped the jar tightly and replaced the protective shielding charm with the strongest stasis charm I could muster. I'd leave the sample in his office, that's all. Leave the sample and a brief note on his desk where he couldn't miss it. Then I would return to my rooms and collapse in an exhausted heap.

I stood tapping my finger indecisively on the jar, knowing that no matter how exhausted I felt, I wouldn't be able to rest without the final verdict on the Sanguinarium. He was probably sleeping. And even if he were awake, surely he wouldn't feel like performing a critique of the potion. But it was equally possible that he was waiting up for me. I worried my lower lip between my teeth. I didn't dare check on him again, did I? I couldn't remember warding his door in my hurry to leave, so perhaps I could peek in for a moment.

* * *

I found him where I'd left him, tucked into the space between the toilet and the tub, half-asleep and looking horrid. I felt a surge of guilt for abandoning him.

"Professor Snape?" I said.

When he didn't stir, I crouched near him. Touching him lightly on the shoulder, I spoke to him again, his first name sounding foreign to my ears. "S...Severus?"

His eyes flew open then and he raised a shaking hand to shield them from my wand light. I set the wand on the edge of a nearby cabinet.

"What time is it?" he asked. His voice was raspy and congested, his lips pale and cracked, eyes sunken in his face.

"I've lost track," I said. "Maybe 6 or 7 o'clock?"

He nodded. "And have you finished?"

"Never you mind about that," I said, moving past him to the sink.

"Answer my question," he said sharply.

"It's finished," I said, filling a tumbler with cold water. He searched my face as I walked toward him, and I tried to keep my expression nonchalant. I held the the tumbler out toward him.

"Did you have any difficulty?" he asked, ignoring my offering.

_Other than sheer terror and anxiety and overwhelming doubt in my own abilities?_

"No."

He nodded again and his shoulders slumped. It appeared those few forceful words had sapped much of strength.

"Try to take a few sips if you're able," I urged him, pressing the glass of water into his hand. He managed one swallow before he grimaced and set the tumbler aside.

"Still feeling sick?"

"No," he said, swallowing again with difficulty. "It's my throat."

I winced in sympathy, understanding the discomfort a case of the flu and an afternoon of vomiting would cause.

"Perhaps something hot would go down easier," I suggested. "I can make tea."

"Don't change the subject." He regarded me for a moment. "Did you bring a potion sample?"

"I planned to leave it in your office, but..." I trailed off. Now that I was here, I dreaded finding out if I had been successful or not. "We don't have to do this until you're feeling better."

"Help me up," he said, extending his hand toward me.

We staggered from the room, his weight heavy against me as I steered him toward an armchair near the fireplace. Judging from the untidy stack of books and journals scattered on a nearby table, an empty cup teetering atop the pile, this was his favorite chair. He settled himself gingerly into its depths, and I lifted a well-worn blanket draped over the back. I shook it out briskly before settling it around him.

"I'm not an invalid," he muttered.

"You've been sitting on a cold floor for most of the day," I pointed out, and he grumbled something I couldn't hear.

I kept sneaking looks at him as I started a fire and prepared a pot of tea. I was taking my time, doing each step the old-fashioned way, in part because any other method made him impatient and I needed the mindless activity to calm my nerves. I rinsed the teapot with hot water, my attention divided between my tasks and him.

He sat with one elbow supported by the chair arm, wearily massaging his forehead. He seemed the picture of abject misery, but despite his discomfort, the blanket had been tossed aside in a show of sheer obstinance. After a few moments I saw his hand go toward the jar I'd left nearby. The tea forgotten, I approached as closely as I dared and stood wringing a tea towel tightly in my hands as I waited.

He uncapped the container, studying the potion sample which was still bubbling gently. He lowered his head, taking a tentative sniff and then dipped one finger into the liquid, placing a small dab against his lips. After a moment that seemed to stretch on to infinity, he frowned. Disappointment deepened the crease between his brows. He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.

I felt myself go cold. The months of preparation and practice, the hours of work; all for nothing. My teeth chattered as I tried to speak.

"I..it must have b..been as I added the cinquefoil." I rubbed my arms briskly, trying to warm myself. "I thought I h...heard something out in the c...corridor and I stepped away for a moment." I swiped angrily at my cheeks, horrified to find myself crying in front of him. "S..stupid. So stupid. Wh...why didn't I keep working?"

"I should have been there with you," he said.

The words hung between us for a moment.

"You couldn't help being ill," I said. "This was _my_ responsibility. A Potions Master must perform under duress and I failed."

_Failed. _

The word echoed horribly in my head. My legs gave out and I sank to the footstool across from him. I took a deep breath. I needed to get this out; needed to say it before he did because it would cut so much deeper coming from him.

"Professor Snape," I said, in the most matter-of-fact tone I could manage, "I appreciate the time and effort you've invested in my education, but the truth is, another year of instruction will make no difference." My calm words belied the turmoil I was feeling. "Give me a few days to make arrangements and then you can rescind my apprenticeship contract."

I chanced a look at him. He was frowning, a searching expression on his face. I don't know what kind of reaction I expected, but when he finally spoke, his voice was gentle, almost hesitant.

"Preparing such a complex potion unassisted requires a great deal of energy." He recapped the jar and set it aside. "You're tired and no doubt overemotional. I would suggest sleeping on it before you make such a rash decision."

He was being considerate...thoughtful. No. No, he was being uncharacteristically _nice_ and it was completely undoing my composure and resolve. I had to get out before I burst into huge, ugly sobs and completely humiliated myself.

"I'm sorry," I muttered, unable to look at him. "I'm so sorry. I'll be out of your way in the morning."

My foot caught in the legs of the stool as I stood up and I nearly fell headlong into the hearth. I felt his hands grab me with surprising strength before I tumbled over.

"And you accuse _me_ of being stubborn," he said, his fingers tightening on my arms. "Leave everything as it is tonight and we'll look at it together in the morning. Perhaps we can figure out what happened."

"I'll save us both the trouble," I said, my unfocused eyes staring past him, my voice nearly monotone. "I wasn't paying attention and I bodged it. It's that simple."

"Look at me," he said forcefully, and my focus snapped back to him. "It's never that simple."

Even as he stood trembling, his face colorless, he radiated authority. "I will expect a more thorough analysis tomorrow. Without the self-pity, if you please."

He was right. I was acting like a petulant schoolgirl who hadn't gotten her way. I didn't care. I wrenched away from his grasp and stumbled blindly toward the door.


	3. Chapter 3

Before the door slammed behind me, I already regretted my impulsive words. What had I been thinking? Throwing a fit when he was so obviously ill? Making such a life-altering decision when I was fatigued nearly beyond my endurance?

The weight of what I'd done made my head spin, and I blundered toward the nearest solid object, reaching out my hand to steady myself. I could feel the scarred wood of his desk under my fingertips as I worked my way around the edge, my trembling legs barely carrying me to a straight-backed, spindly wooden chair.

I buried my head in my arms, my only awareness the rough, gouged wood under my cheek and the stale smell of my own sweat, so evocative of the hours and hours I had devoted to learning my craft; two of the most exhausting, difficult, yet deeply satisfying years of my life.

My mind whirled with emotions, my gut churning as I contemplated the long, circuitous path I had taken to reach this point, the seemingly endless study and training. I was no longer the timid apothecary clerk who had, in one daring instance grasped at a sudden inspiration, reaching for a dream I didn't even know I had…

* * *

_"Professor Snape, th...thank you for agreeing to see me..."_

_With only the expanse of his desk separating us, his eyes taking me in and summarily dismissing me, I felt terrified. This has seemed a much better idea a week ago when I dashed off an impulsive letter and owled it before I could change my mind._

_"This won't take long," came his curt reply, as he shook open what I assumed was that very letter. "I understand from your recent post you are requesting a Potions apprenticeship?"_

_I could only nod, my mouth dry, my brain seemingly frozen._

_"I've not taken on an apprentice in several years. Surely you were aware of that before you contacted me?"_

_"Yes sir," I managed to get out. He hadn't yet invited me to sit so I remained standing. I wasn't altogether confident of my ability to move at the moment anyway._

_"I'm afraid you've wasted your time. My schedule is much too busy at present to allow for the extra duties involved," he explained, not unkindly. The piles of parchment and correspondence and journals stacked on his desk were a testament to this statement._

_"And you could have told me all of this by return post," I said, not quite believing my own bold words. "There must be some reason you agreed to see me today."_

_He let the parchment drift from his hand as he sat back in his chair. The look he gave me was incurious, indifferent. I began to wonder if he had asked me here only to watch me squirm._

_"I will admit your….ah...history intrigued me." He flicked one finger at my letter. "You've worked at St. Mungo's for the past six years as an apothecary clerk?"_

_"That's right," I said._

_"Six years," he said thoughtfully "with no advancement, absolutely nothing to distinguish your long tenure..."_

_I flinched at his harsh words, but held my tongue. He was being truthful._

_"I seldom find apprentice applicants who meet my exacting standards," he continued. "And when I do, they're usually quite full of themselves and unwilling to learn. Taking on a relatively unskilled clerk like yourself would present an interesting challenge."_

_The old Muggle play _Pygmalion_ rose to mind immediately, but I pushed it back down. I was beginning to see a glimmer of hope._

_"Putting all that aside, however," he said, "I fail to understand, after six years, your sudden interest in a Potions apprenticeship."_

_"I wouldn't call it sudden," I said._

_He raised one eyebrow and I recognized a renewed chance to convince him._

_"May I sit?" I asked. I was beginning to feel lightheaded, both from nervousness and a faint stirring of excitement._

_He gestured toward the chair across from his desk. I tried to settle myself comfortably, but it proved impossible. I didn't know where to start except at the very beginning._

_"I was in attendance the day you gave the lecture on blood-replenishing potions at St. Mungo's, " I said._

_"Indeed?" He leaned back in his chair. "I seem to recall that particular seminar was limited to upper-level apothecary personnel only."_

_I could feel myself blush from my chest to the roots of my hair. "I wasn't supposed to be there," I admitted. "I...well...I slipped into the back of the room when no one was watching."_

_"Why?"_

_I opened my mouth to answer and just as quickly shut it again. I knew instinctively that the truth would serve me best.._

_"After I expressed an interest in hearing your talk, my superiors forbid me to attend," I said. "They seemed to think I wouldn't understand any of it."_

_His brief expression of amusement emboldened me._

_"Your lecture that day," I said, moving to the edge of my seat, "It...it lit a fire under me. Most of it went right over my head, of course, but what I managed to understand..." Forgetting myself, I leaned forward and grasped the edge of his desk. "From that moment on, I've been..." I searched my mind for the exact word to express what burned inside me. "I've been nearly desperate to learn more."_

_If he was moved at all by my intensity, it wasn't reflected in his demeanor. I sat back, feeling deflated and foolish._

_"That particular lecture was over a year ago," he said. "Why approach me now?"_

_"I wanted to give myself enough time," I said. "I wanted to be certain it wasn't a...a passing infatuation."_

_He turned his attention back to my letter, scribbling notes in the margin, but I knew from the tilt of his head he was listening._

_"After that, I starting taking private tutoring in Potions…"_

"_With?"_

"_Uhm, Hristov. Petar Hristov."_

"_Acceptable," he murmured, scrawling another note. _

"_So in between my studies and work duties and family responsibilities, I've had no time to pursue an apprenticeship until now."_

_His quill paused at the words "family responsibilities."_

_"You are married?" he asked, his expression unreadable._

_"No."_

_"Children?"_

_Before I could stop myself, I scoffed. "No," I said quickly, at his incredulous look. "No children."_

_I didn't want to tell him. The pain was still too fresh, still too close to the surface, but his eyes seemed to drag out of me what I found difficult to say._

_"I was the sole caretaker for my mother when she became ill."_

_He nodded. "I see."_

_"She's dead now," I said bluntly, feeling tears well up. "Six months ago."_

_To my relief, he did not offer condolences. He remained silent for the few minutes it took to compose myself._

_"Am I to assume your application for the apprenticeship program at St. Mungo's was rejected?" he asked after a pause. _

_I was grateful for the change of subject._

_"No," I said. "I never bothered applying."_

_I saw a look of genuine surprise flit across his face before he said, "Then as the next logical step in your career, I would suggest you do so." He folded my letter and dropped it into the top drawer of his desk. "You can show yourself out."_

_"I don't want to apprentice at St. Mungo's," I said, rising from my chair. "I've looked into their program and it's worse than useless."_

_"Indeed? Then I'm afraid you would also find my curriculum inadequate."_

_"Why do you say that?" _

_He studied me coolly. "I designed the course of study for St. Mungo's."_

_"But..." I twisted my robes nervously in my hands. Had I misspoken and completely ruined my chances? "It couldn't possibly be the same curriculum. St. Mungo's must be using some...some watered-down version."_

_"And what makes you think that?"_

_"Because I still remember how uncomfortable your lecture was for everyone to sit through." _

_Watching my superiors squirming in their chairs during his talk was one of my fondest memories. I smiled faintly, remembering it all over again. _

_"Some of the points you raised scared them to death," I said.  
_

_"But you weren't frightened." It wasn't a question._

_"I find willful ignorance much more frightening," I said. "And I would rather abandon my plans than have the Ministry dictate to me what I can and cannot learn."_

_He raised his eyes to mine. It was all I could do not to look away from his intense, penetrating stare._

_"Tell me," he said softly. "how would you use your knowledge of Potions, once acquired?"_

_I swallowed, hard, certain that his decision rested on my answer. _

_"I would like to think I wouldn't use it selfishly," I said._

_"But you cannot assure me of that."_

_"No."_

_He nodded, but his face remained inscrutable. "In my experience, " he said, "I have found that the most dangerous people are the ones who underestimate their potential for doing evil."_

* * *

The sound of a door slamming against the wall startled me forcibly from my memories and I jerked my head up from the desk.

He paced toward me slowly, dangerously, wand leveled at my chest. "Explain yourself," he said. His voice, though weak, still chilled me.

"Professor Snape, it's me."

I stood and held my hands out to show I was unarmed, not a threat, but he closed the distance between us quickly. Before I knew what was happening, I found myself staring at the business end of my own wand. The wand I had apparently left behind when I stormed out of his quarters. Damn.

His teeth were bared as he pressed the tip of the wand into the hollow of my throat.

"What are you doing in my office?" he growled.

It was then I noticed the spots of color high in his cheeks and the bloodshot eyes that couldn't seem to rest anywhere. I raised my hand slowly, grasped his wrist and directed the wand toward the floor. His pulse under my fingertips was thready and much too rapid.

"It's me," I repeated. "Your apprentice? You're threatening me with my own wand."

He blinked once, his eyes focusing on my face without seeming recognition. "Do I know you?"

I gently removed the wand from his grasp and tucked it away.

"Yes," I said. "And I was just leaving. I'm sorry I disturbed you." Maybe he wouldn't even remember what happened earlier in his quarters.

"I'm not..." He stopped and swayed where he stood. I reached out to steady him. "I'm not feeling very well," he finished weakly.

I turned and draped one of his arms across my shoulders to support his weight, surprised at the amount of heat I felt radiating from him.

"That's because you're ill," I said, guiding him in the direction of his quarters. "Occamy Flu? A horrible reaction to Pepperup? Any of this sound familiar?"

He didn't answer, but I did hear him utter a soft moan as he nearly lost his footing crossing the threshold.

"You need the Infirmary," I said, beginning to pant from the effort of keeping him upright. "You're running a fever, probably dehydrated..."

"No," he said, in as firm a voice as I had heard him use all day. "I'm not going to the Infirmary."

As he tried to pull away from me, I tightened my grip around his waist. "Fine," I said, blowing an errant strand of hair away from my forehead. "No Infirmary, but you need to be in bed...or sitting down at the very least."

Only a supreme effort on my part kept us from falling before we reached his bed chamber. It was dark and cold as we entered the room but he was beginning to tremble and I didn't dare let him go to start a fire. I pulled off his cloak and let it settle to the floor without a second thought. I would put everything to rights later. I eased him down to the edge of the bed and as I knelt to begin pulling off his boots, he fell heavily to one side and lay still.

"I'm going to bring you some tea," I told his inert form. I wasn't sure what else to do besides get some fluids in him, and fast.

He was dozing fitfully when I returned, and as much as I hated to, I gently shook his shoulder to wake him. I was relieved to see that his eyes had regained some focus and clarity when he looked up at me.

"Not you again," he said impatiently, seeming to recognize me this time.

"Afraid so," I said, settling myself on the edge of his bed. "Can't seem to stay away. Will you sit up a little?"

He obeyed without argument and I passed him the cup wordlessly. He had difficulty holding it steady and I pretended to be extremely interested in the fireplace across the room so as not to embarrass him further. I heard him choke and then splutter and I turned back to face him.

"Feel like it's going to stay down?" I asked him.

He nodded, wiping his chin. "I think so."

The fact that he wasn't snapping at me was worrisome.

"That's probably enough for now," I said, setting the cup on a nearby table. I didn't have extensive medical knowledge but I did know that Occamy flu had to run its course.

"You should get some rest," I added, pulling a thick, heavy coverlet up to his chest. "But whenever you wake, try to drink as much as you can manage, okay?"

I watched as he curled onto his side, his eyes drifting shut.

"Did you try to come after me?" I asked softly. "Is that why you had my wand?"

He stirred restlessly and mumbled something I couldn't make out. I waited while his breathing evened and slowed.

"I'm sorry I acted so childishly," I said. "It's just..." I took a quavering breath. "The first few weeks of my apprenticeship, I didn't think I'd make it through. But I did. And I learned I can withstand nearly anything - your impatience, your biting criticism, your complete lack of empathy - anything at all, except your disappointment."


	4. Chapter 4

_I'm going to miss this spot._

It was the only thought my tired brain could formulate as I collapsed to the tiny settee in my sitting room. I ran my hand over the threadbare upholstery, letting my head fall back against a lumpy cushion.

Hours before, I'd completed the reverse brew, working back and forth between the cauldrons, painstakingly retracing each step of the preparation until I uncovered my error. So simple a mistake, but with such life-changing consequences. One ingredient added a moment too late and I'd lost everything I'd worked for.

I should have waited for Professor Snape. As my superior, he should have supervised the reverse brew, but he had been ill and feverish most of the night. I couldn't bear to wake him just so he could witness my utter failure.

I curled into a ball, closing my eyes. I felt too restless to sleep despite my exhaustion. For hours I'd turned the same thought over and over in my head..._what now?_

I shivered, more from the contemplation of my bleak future than the chilly air in my room. I couldn't return to St. Mungo's, not after being assured by anyone who cared to weigh in what a dismal failure I would be. And with a half-finished apprenticeship I had no real job prospects. I didn't even have a home to call my own. The house I'd shared with my mother had been sold to cover her final expenses. At best, I could find work with some second-rate Healer, slinging potions for a living.

_You are being ridiculous. Worry never accomplished anything._

My eyes flew open as the words in my mother's voice cut through my haze of self-pity. She'd never had the patience for brooding.

"Oh, mum," I said out loud, as if she could hear me, as if she could answer me,"What am I going to do?"

Her answer came so quickly and clearly I doubted my sanity for a moment.

_There's nothing so tragic that a nice cup of tea won't put right._

Too true. My stomach growled as I rose to my feet. I was exhausted, hungry, and I'd think better after something to eat.

In my little kitchen I carefully lifted the tea tray from its place in the cupboard. I set the kettle to boiling, filled my favorite blue and white china pot with darjeeling, added a matching cup to the tray, then removed two scones from a wicker basket.

I could sense my mother's presence as I handled the old familiar things from our home, could almost feel her next to me. A sudden wave of longing and grief nearly sent me to my knees. Tears began to spill over and I hastily grabbed a tea towel and pressed it to my eyes. I took a few deep breaths to calm myself.

_Breakfast first, then a nap, then you can have an emotional breakdown._

"Yes, mum," I said, half-laughing, half-sobbing.

I flung the towel over my shoulder and scooped up water from the tap to rinse my face. Over the sound of splashing, I thought I could hear a faint knocking on the door to my quarters.

"Just a moment," I called.

I opened the door to a rush of cold, dank air and the astonishing sight of Professor Snape standing uncertainly in the corridor, hand still poised to knock.

He looked horrible, the beginnings of stubble sprinkling his jaw line, eyes red-rimmed, hair straggling across his face. It surprised me to see him looking so disheveled. I would never have called him particular about his appearance, but he was at least presentable most of the time. This morning he had either left his quarters in a terrible hurry or had done so without consulting a mirror beforehand.

Without stopping to think, I grabbed his arm and pulled him into the room. He stumbled slightly as the door closed behind us. We both shivered in the draft that swirled through the room.

"I'm surprised to see you," I said.

My voice sounded strange and quavery, even to my own ears, and he stared at me for a moment before replying.

"I could say the same for you," he said. "I checked the workroom this morning and when I didn't find you there, I thought..."" He stopped then, his wheezy breathing harsh in the silence.

"You thought I'd done a runner?" I said. "Nipped out a window?"

His mouth tightened into a thin line. "I wanted to ensure you weren't rushing into a foolish decision which could very well destroy your future."

His expression as he spoke was so grave and his words carried such weight, I felt ashamed of myself for acting flippant.

"I'm sorry," I said. "About last night, I mean. I wasn't thinking clearly. I wouldn't leave without notice...not when you're ill."

A fine sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead and as I studied him, he started to lose the little color he had in his face. From somewhere from within the folds of his robes he withdrew a handkerchief and pressed it to his mouth as a wrenching cough shook him.

I stood by silently, feeling helpless. He looked wretched and sounded worse but I didn't know what to do for him. Occamy flu was a nasty illness, one that knocked younger men than he off their feet. He folded forward, hair obscuring his face as he continued to cough.

I closed the distance between us and rested a hand on his back. He allowed me to guide him to a chair with no protest. Even though I tried to help him into a sitting position, he dropped heavily into the seat, his head bowed nearly between his knees. I perched in the opposite chair, ready to jump up again if he needed me.

As the coughing fit began to ease, he sighed and propped his head in one hand. He didn't seem inclined to say anything at all. My hands shook as I filled the cup with tea and passed it to him. He accepted it with murmured thanks and took a small sip, grimacing as he swallowed.

I kept up a steady line of nervous chatter as I brought another cup from the kitchen for myself.

"Have you eaten anything?" I indicated the plate of scones on the tray between us. "Maybe you should havet a little something. Or is your stomach still dodgy? They're ginger-orange. I baked them myself. Ginger is excellent if you're feeling queasy..."

_Oh my god, shut up, shut up, shut up._

It was my own voice this time, not my mother's, though I almost thought I could hear her laughter.

"We should perform the reverse brew this morning," he said, lacking his usual authoritative manner, "before the stasis charm dissipates."

"I've finished," I told him. His raised his head to give me an incredulous look and I shrugged. "Early bird and all that."

"Then I'd like to review the reverse samples," he said, "and your notes."

"You're still very ill, Sev..er...Professor Snape." I flinched at my near-usage of his first name, but if he noticed, he didn't comment. "You should be resting."

"I hope you're not presuming to tell me what I'm capable of doing."

"That would take a bigger fool than me," I said. "But if you trusted me to handle the preparation alone then you should trust I completed the reverse brew to your exacting specifications."

He held my gaze and I threw my hands up in surrender. "Fine," I said, stalking out to the corridor to _Accio_ my notes.

"This is everything," I said, handing off the stack of parchment. "I left the samples."

My wand skills were spotty under the best of circumstances. Although the reverse-brewed potion was no longer volatile, I didn't want to risk a calamity by dropping the flasks or sending them crashing into a wall along the way.

He nodded distractedly as he paged through my notes, forehead furrowed in concentration. I knew him well enough by now to recognize disappointment, impatience and frustration on his face and couldn't bear to sit and watch his changing expressions as he read.

"I'll just, er...tidy up a bit," I said, although he showed no sign of having heard me.

I snatched up the tray and hurried back to the kitchen, trying not to hyperventilate as I filled the sink with hot, soapy water.

Dishes were to be done by hand. I preferred manual tasks over magic. It's one reason I had been drawn to the hospital dispensary at St. Mungo's, why I loved everything about potions work. It seemed I could only be sure of things I could see or smell or touch. Magic always seemed to exist in some ethereal otherness and I never trusted it would be available if I needed it.

After a few moments I sensed him walk up behind me. Waiting for him to speak, I concentrated on my task: Swish, scrub, rinse, stack. Maybe he would go away.

"It was as you suspected..." he said.

"Yes." Swish, scrub, rinse, stack. "I added the cinquefoil one and one-quarter minutes too late."

"What happened?"

My hands stilled as I remembered the moment vividly. I felt scared being on my own. I thought I'd heard him in the corridor and I'd rushed out to check. When I returned to the cauldron, the crucial moment had passed. But telling him so now when neither of us could do anything about it would sound like a self-serving excuse.

"It doesn't matter," I said. "I was distracted when I should have been concentrating." I sighed and scrubbed at a stubborn smudge on a plate. "At that point I knew it was done for, but..."

"You couldn't bear to give up."

"I should have saved my strength." I set aside the final dish and turned to face him. "I'm too stubborn for my own good."

He leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. To anyone else it would seem a casual gesture, but I knew he was not a casual person. I saw a shiver run through him quickly, then another, and I realized the door frame was serving to hold him upright.

I walked toward him, drying my hands on my robes. His dark eyes searched my face.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"It's just...you're shivering. I think you're running a temperature again." I raised my hand and he flinched slightly. "It's okay. I, um, don't know any diagnostic spells, so can I, uh...?"

I pressed the back of my hand to his forehead before he could reply. He closed his eyes and I thought I heard a soft sigh. I moved my hand to the side of his face. My fingers felt nearly cold against the heat radiating from his skin.

"You do feel warm," I said softly. I was his apprentice, but whatever fear I'd felt in his presence had long since disappeared. Once you've sat next to someone and held their hair back while they're sick, it tends to break down the walls.

"Did you stay in my room last night?" he asked. His eyes opened but his gaze went over my head. "I seem to remember your presence, but..."

"You weren't hallucinating," I said, lowering my hand. "I sat with you for a while."

A flush crept up his neck and I rushed to explain.

"You were running a high fever and I couldn't give you anything for it. I didn't think you should be alone."

At this he looked at me. His eyes were soft, unfocused, and I thought I saw a flash of gratitude but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. He turned from me as another bout of wracking coughs overtook him.

"Let me walk you back to your room," I said. "You should be in bed."

He ran a shaking hand over his face as he tried to catch his breath.

"The student stores are in complete disarray," he said, his voice nothing more than a weak croak. "And I have final marking to finish."

"You also have an apprentice."

"Do I? That seemed to be a matter of some confusion yesterday."

Before I could stop myself, I reached out to grasp one of his hands. "I'm here," I said. "As long as you need me."


	5. Chapter 5

I skidded into the Infirmary, my feet finding no purchase on the freshly waxed floor, arms flailing in the air. I had to grab a nearby cabinet to halt my forward motion and even at that, nearly went tumbling end over end before I stopped.

"Ah, good morning," Madam Pomfrey said cheerfully, glancing at me over her shoulder. "What's happened now? Someone singe all their body hair off? Sprouting oddly-shaped facial lumps?" She chuckled and turned her attention back to her inventory of linens.

"I'm sorry to bother you," I said, digging my hand into my side and trying to catch my breath. "But it's Professor Snape."

At that the matron spun around, her manner changing instantly from bored bemusement to alarm.

"Severus? What's happened?"

"It's all my fault," I said, feeling a lump rise in my throat.

"Where is he?" She looked past me, toward the entrance doors, as if expecting him to appear.

"I didn't bring him in, I'm sorry," I said. "He's too weak. I had enough trouble getting him off the floor and into bed when he collapsed in my quarters."

The last I blurted out without thinking of how it would sound. Her eyebrows shot up but she recovered her composure rapidly.

"Collapsed, you say?"

"Yes. He was getting ready to leave when he went down like a felled tree."

I closed my eyes against the memory; the brief but horrible moment when I thought he'd died and my tearful relief when I realized he'd only fainted.

"He's resting now. Not comfortably, but..."

"He's been ill recently?"

I nodded. "We were brewing yesterday. I thought he was coming down with a cold and I nagged him until he went back to his chambers to take Pepperup. When I checked on him later, he was having a violent reaction to it."

"Occamy flu," she said. "There's been a case or two amongst the students recently."

"Yes, and I should have realized, I know. I'm so sorry I didn't send him to the Infirmary straight away."

She scoffed, waving a hand dismissively. "Not to worry. Severus has seldom come to the hospital wing of his own volition. If he shows up at all, he usually has to be carried in feet first." Her words held just a hint of affection for his stubbornness. "Go on."

"He was vomiting all day and into the evening then ran a high fever most of the night. And I know we should have come to you at that point, but..."

I trailed off, unable to explain why we hadn't, only that when we were working together in the dungeons it was as though the rest of the castle somehow ceased to exist, like it was a brightly-lit world completely foreign to our own.

"Today he was up and about for a bit," I continued, "but he's clearly not well. He looks dreadful, has a horrible cough and I think he has a fever again."

"I wouldn't be too concerned," Madam Pomfrey said, "Occamy flu is brutal and given its usual course, combined with his unfortunate tendency to push himself too hard, he'll look and sound terrible for a while." She frowned, running a finger thoughtfully across her lower lip. "But he should have passed the febrile stage. Are you certain he's still running a fever today?"

"Fairly certain. He was shivering and felt warm to the touch when I put him to bed just now."

"Hm. Well, I've had no experience with Pepperup reactions from Occamy flu. I'm going to have to talk to Healer Demarcus at St. Mungo's."

The sound of that particular name sent my stomach plunging to my feet. Healer Demarcus, St. Mungo's Chief Infectious Illness Specialist, a man so full of himself he barely acknowledged any staff member he considered beneath his station. On the few occasions he'd humbled himself sufficiently to enter the apothecary, he refused to make eye contact with anyone, addressing either our shoes or the area over our heads as if we were unworthy to meet his gaze.

"Why don't you come into my office while I see if I can raise him?" she suggested, taking me by the arm and starting to walk with me toward the back of the Infirmary. "You look as though you're about to fall over yourself."

I stumbled along with her, smothering a yawn with the back of my hand. When we reached her office, Madam Pomfrey moved to the small fireplace, taking a handful of Floo powder from an ornate box on the mantel. The creaking of her joints was audible as she knelt to make the connection to St. Mungo's.

I watched her silently. It was still disquieting to me, this image of a woman on her knees, head thrust into a blazing fire. Maybe it was my childhood with Muggle parents where such things were found only in fairy tales, but I had to stop myself from panicking and pulling her to safety. To my relief, she backed out after a few moments, shaking soot from her hair.

"Healer Demarcus is going to contact us after he finishes his rounds," she said.

I nodded, my mind completely distracted as I took in Madam Pomfrey's cozy office: Soft music playing, rugs softening the stone floor, fresh flowers arranged around the room and two cozy chairs pushed up under a wide window. Everything seemed designed for comfort. Since I'd managed only a few broken hours of rest the night before, I wanted nothing more than to sink into one of the chairs and sleep for a week. She seemed to read my expression of longing.

"Why don't you have a seat while we wait?" she suggested, motioning to the very chair I'd been eying; the one overflowing with pillows, a soft throw draped over one arm.

Without another word, I fell into the chair, pillows plumping all around me. Before I even closed my eyes completely, I could feel the gentle undulation of sleep beginning to overtake me. I slipped into the hazy area between consciousness and oblivion, the room receding, blissfully unaware of time passing until I felt Madam Pomfrey poke me on the shoulder.

"Wha..?" I said stupidly, rubbing my arm where she had thumped me.

"Healer Demarcus is on the Floo. You need to talk to him."

"Me?" I said, my voice a croak, shaking my head to clear the fuzziness. "Why?"

He's just told me there is a potion that will counteract the Pepperup reaction...Cros something or other."

I bolted upright in my chair, suddenly and completely alert. Croceus. Professor Snape had taught me how to prepare it in my first apprentice year, yet somehow when I most needed the knowledge I'd failed to remember it. I slammed the flat of my hand against my leg in frustration. Was none of my education sticking with me? I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself so I could think rationally.

"The St. Mungo's apothecary doesn't keep Croceus in stock," I said. "It has to be brewed as needed since it loses its efficacy and evaporates fifteen minutes after distillation."

"That's exactly what Healer Demarcus is telling me," Madam Pomfrey said, taking me by the hand and pulling me out of the chair. "Which is why I'm bowing out and you're going to talk to him."

"But I..."

_I was a lowly apothecary clerk, not worthy to speak to a Healer as an equal. I was a stupid girl with a stupid dream that would be forever out of her reach._

I closed my eyes tightly, trying to shake off the thoughts that plagued me. I wasn't the same frightened and insecure girl any longer and I refused to let my past dictate how I handled myself today. There was too much at stake.

I collected a quill and fresh parchment from Madam Pomfrey and took a moment to jot down the ingredients and preparation instructions from memory before kneeling on the rug in front of the fireplace.

"Hello, Healer Demarcus," I said, sounding much more confident than I felt.

He was taken aback to see me, as much as I could tell with the distortion of the flames, but he recovered quickly.

"Well, well, what a surprise," he said in his booming voice. "I recognize you now. You're the apothecary clerk who mistook lamivudine for lamotrigine." He laughed loudly. "Quite a mess, that was."

"How nice that I made an impression on you, Healer Demarcus." I kept my voice calm. "I was never certain if you bothered to learn any of our names"

"Well, now that we have our pleasantries out of the way," he said with the dangerous smile I remembered, "What exactly do you need from me?"

"We have a staff member who contracted Occamy flu and had a secondary reaction when he mistakenly took Pepperup. I understand I'll need to brew Croceus to counteract it?"

"Took Pepperup, eh?" He laughed again. "Why do I suspect that was your idea?"

I was furious, my hands trembling so violently I could scarcely hold on to the parchment, but my years with Professor Snape had taught me how to act poised and confident in the face of low expectations and insults.

"I'd like to review the ingredients list with you, if you please."

"It would be a complete waste of everyone's time," he said. "I'll arrange for a bed in my ward and you can transfer the patient later this morning."

"I could have the potion prepared and administered before you even issued the ward order, Healer Demarcus."

"And after you muck about all morning, we may not have a bed available."

We stared at each other for a moment.

"Thank you anyway," I said firmly. "I really should start now, so good day to you." I stood and made to end the Floo connection.

"You stubborn girl," I heard him huff, then he began rattling off the list of ingredients and instructions at a blistering pace. I remembered this tactic of his, designed to humiliate and intimidate. Well, I'd worked under Severus Snape for two long years; nothing intimidated me now.

I ticked off items on my list as he continued, pleased to find I had missed nothing. He curtly answered my questions about dosage amount, timing of administration and complications to watch for. He warned me not to expect immediate improvement and that the acute symptoms would gradually disappear over the course of a week.

"One last thing," I said. "He's running a high fever this morning. Can I administer a standard fever draught in the meantime?"

"No, of course not," Healer Demarcus snapped. "He's to have nothing at all until you give him the Croceus. Which is exactly why I suggested transferring him immediately. He should be under the care of qualified Healers."

At that I had to dodge out of the way as Madam Pomfrey abruptly cut off the Floo connection.

"He was lucky I didn't step on his fat, pompous face," she sputtered. "The way he talked to you was outrageous. Was he suggesting you are somehow incapable of the task?"

"I think he went far beyond 'suggesting,'" I said, reading through the list of ingredients once more.

The preparation of Croceus was painstaking but not nearly as complicated as the Sanguinarium. The only thing that worried me was my increasing level of exhaustion. It would take everything I had remaining in me to prepare this potion, no matter how routine it seemed on the surface.

"I need to get started as soon as possible," I said, looking up. "All of the preserved and dried ingredients are in our stores but there are a few things I'll need to collect from the greenhouses."

"Let me do that for you," she said, quickly making a copy of the list. "I'll drop it off in the main workroom, bring you something to eat and then check on Severus after that."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."

"Good luck to you," she said with an encouraging smile.

* * *

I stood in the doorway to my bed chamber, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dim light. Professor Snape was lying where I'd left him and from all appearances he'd not rested peacefully nor well. The flannel I'd draped across his forehead had been hurled halfway across the room. His shirt and trousers were bunched and twisted around his frame. At some point he'd apparently had a go at putting his robes back on but had managed only one arm before giving up. He lay uncomfortably, face mashed into the surface of the bed with a pillow perched on top of his head.

I lowered myself to the edge of the mattress and received only a soft grunt in response.

"I've brought you a potion," I said simply, almost too tired to get the words out. "It's supposed to help with the Pepperup reaction you're having."

He turned his head toward me, licked his lips and tried to speak.

"Croceus?"

It came out as barely a whisper, but I understood him.

"Yes."

"I should have..." He lifted his head, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Why didn't I remember?"

"Never mind," I said, aware that time was slipping away as we spoke. "It seems we both forgot."

I turned the flask in my hands. "You need to take this immediately," I said. "We only have a fifteen-minute window and since I had to leave it unsealed, I spent five of those minutes getting here without spilling the blasted stuff everywhere."

His head drooped back to the bed and he groaned softly. "I don't think I can."

"All you have to do is sit up for a moment, drink the potion, and then you can rest as long as you need to," I said softly.

With that he rolled to his back and used his hands and feet to slowly push himself backward until he rested against the headboard. He trembled as he sat forward; the hours of unrelenting illness and fever had completely taken their toll on his strength.

I moved closer to him and when he tried to remove the flask my hand, he misjudged the distance and nearly knocked it to the floor. I gasped and righted the container just in time.

"Let me help you," I said, lifting the flask to his mouth. "We're running out of time."

He hated the idea, it was evident in the tense way he held his body and the dark look he gave me, but at last he opened his mouth, averting his eyes from mine. Whether his face appeared flushed from fever or from shame, I couldn't tell and at this point, it didn't matter. I tipped the flask up and he began to drink with difficulty, grimacing at each mouthful.

There were only a few minutes remaining when he finally finished. I felt my shoulders relax as he swallowed the last of it and I used my thumb to wipe away a bit of potion that had dribbled onto his chin. He brushed my hand away and leaned forward, bracing his hands on his upright knees, his throat working convulsively.

"Professor Snape?" I asked in alarm, noticing his suddenly pallid complexion. "Are you feeling sick?"

He nodded miserably and I quickly scanned the room for a basin or a bowl he could use. I hadn't even considered the effects a distilled potion might have on an empty stomach and if he couldn't keep it down, we'd have no other choice than to send him to St. Mungo's.

I rubbed his back in what I hoped was a comforting manner and after a few tense moments, he sighed and looked up, his face relaxing a little.

"All right now?" I asked.

He nodded, using the back of his wrist to wipe sweat from his upper lip. He curled into himself and shuddered, looking worn down and completely dispirited. He'd been through so much.

I reached out to him impulsively, placing one hand at the back of his neck. He didn't resist my touch and inclined his head toward mine. We sat together like this for a long while; my hand laced into his hair, our eyes closed, foreheads touching, breathing in unison. I didn't question the closeness of the gesture. We were nothing more than two exhausted people taking comfort from one another.

I had nearly fallen asleep sitting up when I felt his head slip to my shoulder. He murmured words I couldn't understand and I brought my arms around to support his back while I lowered him gently to the bed.

As I leaned over him, smoothing his shirt, brushing the hair back from his face, pulling the blanket up to cover him completely, I studied him closely. The lines on his face seemed deeper, the shadows around his eyes darker, but he looked peaceful enough, already beginning to snore gently. I had done all I could. What he needed now was quiet and a long, unbroken stretch of sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

I jerked my head up at the sound of my small bedside clock chiming. I squinted, trying to make out the numbers. When they came into focus, I groaned. Why in the world had I set my alarm for such an ungodly hour? I blinked groggily as I propped myself up on my elbows and looked around the room. A fire crackled in the grate. A fire I couldn't remember starting. The other side of my bed was made up neatly. Too neatly. I let my head fall back to the pillow and squeezed my eyes shut. As soon as I could remember what day it was, I'd get up and go about my business, whatever it happened to be.

"Imagine my surprise," said a familiar voice from the bedroom doorway, "When I woke early this morning to find myself in your bed."

Each disdainful word, spoken in a low tone, seemed to take whole minutes to reach my ears. I lay still, hoping I was imagining it.

"I don't suppose you'd care to explain?"

I sat up and swung my legs out of the bed, clutching at my head with one hand, using the other to inch myself forward. I was still wearing the same rumpled, sweaty robes from two days before and my hair was a riotous mess of fuzz around my face. I whimpered and dropped my head into my hands.

"It's a..." I swallowed with difficulty, suddenly aware of a burning ache in my throat.

"It's a long story," I finished feebly.

I heard him approach my bed, step by measured step, and caught a glimpse of his boots before I covered my eyes with my hands. Oh, hell. I knew from hard experience that he was in a particularly nasty temper this morning. It was practically oozing off of him.

"Had your indiscretion been discovered," he said, lowering his voice to a near whisper, "You would have been summarily dismissed from the apprenticeship program and even my own position would have been in jeopardy."

I shivered and reached back for the rumpled blanket, pulling it around my shoulders, my eyes still shut tightly.

"Do you have any idea how inappropriate your actions were or how serious the consequences could have been?"

I felt my own temper flare suddenly. I'd exhausted myself yesterday trying to help him and I was in no mood for his unfair accusations.

"To begin with," I said, "You came to my room all on your own, so stop acting as if I dragged you here against your will."

I shivered again, tucking my feet up onto the bed. Why was I so damn cold? I pressed my face into my upraised knees and continued speaking, not giving him a chance to interrupt.

"And though it somehow seems to have slipped your mind, you felt so ill yesterday you _fainted_ in my kitchen. I spent the whole morning brewing and then had to practically pour the potion down your throat, at which point you passed out and snored for ten hours straight. So don't talk to me about _indiscretions_, Severus. I don't want to hear it."

I turned from him, still too angry to look him in the face. My eyes and nose were beginning to stream and I sniffled madly as I searched the nightstand drawer. I shook out the clean handkerchief I found, blew my nose loudly and wiped my eyes.

"I…" His voice was hesitant. "I apologize if I spoke harshly," he said finally.

"You absolute berk," I said, my voice cracking. "I'm not _crying_. I think I'm coming down with the same wretched flu you have."

I felt the bed dip as he took a seat next to me. He was silent for a moment and then said, "Strangely enough, I no longer seem to be suffering from Occamy Flu."

I couldn't believe it when I glanced over at him. It was true. There he sat, freshly showered and shaved, nicely turned out in his professorial robes and from all appearances not only was he feeling better, he was completely recovered. All symptoms of his illness seemed to have disappeared overnight.

"Well," I said brightly. "How nice for you."

"I can't understand it," he said. "Occamy Flu is notorious both for its prolonged course and resistance to any remedies. At this time yesterday, I was only a few days into it and felt as ill as I've ever felt in my life. By all rights I should still be weak, feverish and hacking up vital organs." At this he spread his hands, the better to encompass his infuriatingly robust condition. "But I feel perfectly healthy."

I shrugged. "Perhaps you're an odd one with a strong constitution who throws off illnesses quickly."

"I've considered that," he said. "Although it's never been the case before."

I lifted a corner of the blanket to my mouth to smother a cough. My throat felt like I'd swallowed sand and I wasn't going to be able to talk much longer without something to drink. I made an attempt to stand, keeping the blanket wrapped tightly around myself. When I wavered and nearly fell back to the bed, he reached out and grabbed my arm to steady me.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Water," I croaked.

"Sit back down," he huffed, turning to _Accio_ a glass from the kitchen. He waited while I gulped the contents gratefully.

"You brewed Croceus yesterday to counteract the Pepperup reaction, correct?" he asked when I'd finished. "Did you by any chance save a brewing sample?"

"Of course." I always saved a brewing sample. It was second nature to me now. "Completely pointless of course, since the distillate evaporates after 15 minutes, but there may be traces left in the flask." I scrubbed at my nose, which was already beginning to feel like someone had taken sandpaper to it. "Why do you ask?"

"It's a suspicion I have. I won't know for certain until I have a chance to look at the sample."

I sighed. "Let me clean myself up, then I'll collect the sample and meet you in your office."

I shed the blanket, took a few steps toward the adjoining washroom and had to stop as a powerful and unexpected sneeze overtook me, nearly bending me in half.

"Bless," he said, although his impatient tone made it sound very much like 'sod off' instead. "You're obviously not well. Are you certain you're capable of working today?"

"I'll be fine," I said, mostly to convince myself. All I needed was a bath. A long, hot bath, a cup of tea and then if I didn't feel much improved, I would look for a high window to throw myself from.

* * *

I'd stayed in the bath much longer than necessary, luxuriating in the steamy water which seemed to ease the persistent achiness and clear my head. As I dried off and changed into fresh robes, I felt immeasurably better. Unfortunately, my sensation of well-being lasted all of fifteen minutes, giving me just enough time to choke down a day-old scone, collect the sample and make a dash for his office.

I peered through the door that adjoined his classroom and office. I'd missed him by only a few minutes but he was already mid-lecture. Now I could do nothing but wait. I slumped at my desk, wrapped in his heavy woolen cloak which I'd taken from his chair. I knew I should be marking the student essays stacked in the middle of my desk, but my attention kept drifting to the stoppered flask I'd pushed to one side.

I lifted the flask again, swirling it gently in the faint glow of the candle. The Croceus potion, which should have completely evaporated 24 hours ago, still shone a deep, jewel-like orange. I couldn't believe I'd bodged another potion.

I replaced the flask and reached for the handkerchief in my lap. I blew my nose again, my ears popping painfully. I didn't hear him enter the office until he was standing directly in front of my desk.

"Are you wearing my cloak?" he asked.

"I'm sorry," I said, sniffling and trying to arrange the student essays to hide the brewing sample from his view. "But I'm freezing."

He made an impatient noise and with a flick of his wand, the fire in the grate behind me roared to life. His glance then fell on the stoppered flask and his expression changed from one of distaste to bewilderment.

"Is this the Croceus sample?" He plucked it from my desk and studied it at eye level. "From yesterday?"

"Don't ask me to explain it," I said miserably, inching my chair closer to the fire. "I can't. And if you'd like to throw me out this morning, I wouldn't blame you."

"No, not at all," he said, carrying the sample to his own desk. "I suspected as much."

My mouth fell open, partially from surprise but mostly because I could no longer breathe through my nose. "You expected me to make a complete mess of things again?"

"Try to follow along, will you?" he said. "I know it's asking quite a bit of you in your current state." He pulled a sheet of parchment toward himself and removed a qull from a stand on his desk. "Some of the most important developments in potion making have been the result of an accident like this one."

He scribbled a few quick notes and then looked up at me. "You prepared Croceus in the same room that was used for brewing Sanguinarium the day before. Some residual ingredient, either vaporized in the air or remaining in the equipment, apparently contaminated the Croceus."

I groaned and covered my eyes. Yet another basic rule of potion making that somehow eluded me yesterday. "I didn't even think," I said. "I know I should have used a different workroom, but..."

He held up a hand to stop me. "No matter. Now that the Croceus has been modified, it's a stable substance, unlike before. Even more interesting, it may be a rapid and complete cure for Occamy flu...the equivalent of Pepperup against the common cold."

"But we can't be certain of that," I said. "There are too many variables."

"True." He paused, leaning his head close to his desk to jot down additional notes. "So our first step should be to duplicate, with the help of a test subject, the exact conditions under which the Croceus seemingly cured my case of Occamy Flu overnight."

"'Test subject?'" I said, scoffing. "Considering I'm the only one with Occamy Flu at the moment, I assume that's me.."

"Regrettable," he said. "But it's the only way to determine whether or not my rapid recovery was a fluke or if it is reproducible."

I gave up all pretense of working and moved my chair as close as I could to the fire, stretching my hands out to warm them. "I'm not sure I like where this is headed," I muttered.

"Here's what I propose," he said, ticking off each item as he spoke. "After classes are finished for the day I will use yesterday's sample to complete the reverse brew and then prepare a duplicate batch from the results. In the meantime, you will rest in your quarters. You will take a standard dose of Pepperup while I observe and then we'll allow sufficient time for your body to purge itself of the potion..."

"Wait just a moment," I said, interrupting him. "'Purge?' That's nothing but a fancy way of saying you want me to deliberately induce a Pepperup reaction and spend half the night with my head hanging over a toilet so we can test this dubious theory of yours."

He shrugged. "There's an old Muggle saying, you know. Something about 'suffering for your art.'"

"The old Muggles can take a leap," I said. "I saw what you went through and I'm not doing it. Besides, I doubt very much you had any Pepperup left in your system by the time I gave you the Croceus yesterday."

"Agreed," he said, staring past me, his eyes growing distant with the memory. "But because of the intractable fever, it's possible there were residual traces."

I watched him as he sat, his fingers tapping out a thoughtful rhythm on his desktop. He was doing his best to appear dispassionate, but I knew he was eager to try. And if what he was suggesting had any truth to it at all, we could be sitting on a potential remedy for an illness considered uncurable for centuries. I couldn't see any way out.

"I'll do it," I said, resigning myself to a miserable evening. "It's not as if I have a choice, considering I am still under our apprenticeship contract which states you can assign any duty you see fit to further my education."

He looked over at me, his dark eyes narrowing, some fleeting emotion crossing his face. It wasn't anger or hurt; if anything, he looked surprised.

"Of course you have a choice," he said quietly. "I would never force you to do this."

I was speechless for a moment at the gravity of his words. "Oh, why not?" I finally said. "I'm not sure I could feel much worse anyway."

"You might be surprised," he said drily. "Your body will use any means necessary to rid itself of the Pepperup. There were moments I was certain it was seeping from every pore."

I shuddered, but this time it wasn't because of the chills.

He resumed reading from his notes. "When you progress to the initial febrile stage of the Pepperup reaction, which took approximately..."

"Six hours," I muttered darkly.

"...six hours, I will administer the modified Croceus. If my suspicions are correct, your course should then follow mine...a nearly-instantaneous sedative effect lasting approximately ten hours with complete cessation of symptoms upon awakening."

Ten hours of uninterrupted rest? Hours of heaving my guts up might be worth it at that.

"If the modified Croceus works as I suspect, we can then proceed with the next stage of our tests following your recovery ."

I rose from my chair slowly, every joint in my body aching as I moved toward my desk. I was starting to feel lightheaded and feverish so his words took some time to sink in.

"Did you say 'next stage?'" I asked after a moment, leaning heavily against my desk. "And 'tests?'"

"We'll need other subjects who are suffering from Occamy Flu in order to test the modified Croceus on its own. Seeing as we are living in a veritable Petri dish, acquiring our subjects should not be difficult."

"I can grab an unsuspecting student and wipe my nose on their robes, if you like."

"Nothing so overt will be necessary," he said. "Although the idea is roughly the same."

He consulted the clock resting on the mantel. "The next class is first-year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students. If you're feeling well enough to assist, I'd like you to pass out the potion ingredients. I'll be instructing the students on a simple Hair-Raising potion which is ideally suited for our purposes."

I closed my eyes, massaging my temples with my fingers, the better to allow my ill, tired brain to process his reasoning.

"The vapors are highly irritating to the mucous membranes," he explained carefully. "So there will be plenty of eye and nose rubbing."

"I'm still not following," I mumbled.

"Your hands," he said, gesturing to where I held my sodden handkerchief balled up my fists. "They should be absolutely teeming with germs by now. I will ask you not to wash them, and as you handle the supplies, the germs will be transferred to the students who will then infect themselves when they rub their eyes or noses. Given the nervous temperament of the typical first-year student plus their remarkably ineffective immune systems and lack of attention to personal hygiene, we should have a castle full of test subjects in three or four days."

"But there must already be cases of Occamy Flu among the students," I protested. "You had to catch it from someone. Let's just find a student who's ill, administer the modified Croceus and see what happens."

"We could, but at this time of year there are constant viral illnesses being passed among the students and staff. The only way to ensure that an illness is truly Occamy Flu is to control the means of transmission itself."

"Still, don't you find it a bit mercenary?" I asked. "I mean, deliberately sickening two Houses full of first-years for an experiment?"

"The illness will begin spreading through the students regardless. We're merely controlling one of the variables. Any illness that crops up in the next 48 hours in a previously asymptomatic Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw first-year student will most likely be Occamy Flu and not a cold or garden-variety flu."

"You know Madam Pomfrey will have our heads if we fill her Infirmary with students and can't cure them."

"It's the only way," he said. "But I believe the modified Croceus by itself will effect a cure in the students."

"You're that certain?"

"At the moment, it's nothing more than conjecture." He rolled up the parchment and placed it at the edge of his desk before he stood. "But my hunches are seldom wrong."

There was enough confidence in his voice to send me directly to the potions stores to start gathering ingredients.


	7. Chapter 7

I lifted the last of the tightly-sealed jars containing fresh rat tails. The Hufflepuff girl standing in front of me hesitated, her mouth turned down in disgust.

"Take them," I said to her through gritted teeth. I could feel a massive sneeze building and it was going to be horribly messy unless she did as I asked immediately.

"But the tails...ew!" she whined. "Look at them, they're _squirming_!"

I bit my lower lip. "They're supposed to..." I paused, my eyes watering, my breath hitching. "They're supposed to squirm, they're..."

I had to quickly bury my head in my shoulder to deflect the sneeze but it was as messy as I'd feared. For a moment, I thought I could actually see flu germs floating through the air.

"And now you've sneezed all over them!" the Hufflepuff girl cried, flapping her hands and backing away from the table.

"Five points from Hufflepuff, Miss Havers." Professor Snape's authoritative voice put an immediate end to the students' laughter. "Take the rat tails and return to your desk at once. And if it's necessary to ask you again, we will make it twenty."

She directed a glare at me and carefully picked up the contaminated jars, holding them between forefinger and thumb as she minced back to her waiting partner.

I resisted the very childish urge to stick my tongue out at her, but I indulged myself by swiping at my nose with both hands and running them along the wooden table where the students would be returning the supplies at the end of class. I sincerely hoped Miss Havers would be the first student to succumb.

My duty done, I wanted nothing more than to fall face-first across a bed. I grabbed my bag from the back of the chair and headed directly for the classroom door. I could see him trying to intercept but I quickened my pace, determined to leave before he had a chance to speak to me.

He caught me by the wrist just before I disappeared through the door. I shook my arm free of his grasp more roughly than I intended. I was not looking forward to my evening. I blamed him completely.

"You're going to your quarters to rest?" he asked.

"That was my plan," I said sulkily, crossing my arms and refusing to look at him..

He ignored my bad temper and continued speaking in a soft voice. "You may not wish to take anything other than tea while you're waiting. It will be easier on you later."

"I'd rather not think about it, if you don't mind." I spun on my heel, ready to stalk off again.

"Wait."

I turned toward him and found his expression was uneasy. "I'm not usually good at this sort of thing but I can check on you tonight, if you wish, and see that you're comfortable. "

His words were so direct and honest, I had to gulp against a sudden lump in my throat.

I looked over his shoulder toward the class, whose expressions ranged from apprehension to nausea to outright terror, then back at him. His eyes were as soft as I'd ever seen them and his concern for my comfort seemed genuine. I was having trouble reconciling the unyielding taskmaster of two years with the difficult yet likable man I'd come to know over the past few days. He deserved honesty in reply.

"Would you please?" I asked softly.

He nodded. "Sleep if you're able."

* * *

Hours later, maybe days later, I couldn't tell, I felt someone shaking my shoulder gently. I opened my eyes to find myself lying on the floor of my lavatory, cheek pillowed on an expanse of coarse fabric. A cloak? I squinted, trying to bring it into focus. I knew this cloak. I'd worn it so often in the past few days it had become a comfort object. I opened my mouth to try to speak but it took a few minutes to pry my tongue off the roof of my mouth.

"I think I might have drooled on it," I murmured, when I could finally speak.

"It's of no matter," Professor Snape said, crouching down to have a better look at me.

I levered myself upright and slumped against the wall, not caring how I looked, legs sprawled out, robes rumpled and hair straggling across my face. The inside of my mouth tasted as if a hippogriff had built a nest inside.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like I desperately need a shower," I said, raising my hand to lift the hair off my neck, surprised to find it held back with an elastic band I didn't remember using. "But other than that, much better."

My head throbbed, my stomach muscles were sore, but the wrenching nausea was blessedly a things of the past. I braced myself on the edge of the tub and attempted to stand. Big mistake. The room tilted and righted itself again and I staggered to one side.

"Take it slowly," he said, supporting me by one elbow. "You're probably feeling dizzy from lack of nourishment. It's been twenty-four hours since your last meal."

"It has?" I asked, the wooziness slowly beginning to clear as we made our way into the other room. "What time is it exactly?"

"Evening," he said, lighting the lamp on my bedside table. "Your sedative period was a bit more... prolonged than my own."

"Sedative period? You mean I've already had the Croceus?" I massaged my forehead wearily, sinking down to my bed. "I don't remember taking it."

"Not surprising. Your reaction to the Pepperup was quite severe," he explained. "When you passed into the febrile stage, you became delirious."

"And you let me lie on the floor of the toilet? Didn't even try to help me up?" I at least got him settled comfortably into bed first.

In the soft light of my bed chamber, I thought I could see a slight flush creep up his neck. "You weren't very cooperative," he said simply. "I tried to make you comfortable."

As my head cleared, my memories were beginning to return. "Did I ask you to AK me?".

He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the question. "Once or twice."

I groaned as another memory filtered into my consciousness. "And did I call for my mother?"

"A natural reaction," he said. "You were quite ill at the time."

"I tried to knock the Croceus out of your hand," I said in horror, more memories returning. "You had to pin my arms back to get it in me."

"As I said before, you were delirious."

"And I fell asleep in your lap," I said, "That's why I woke up on your cloak." I covered my eyes with one hand. I couldn't even look at him. "I am so, so sorry."

He ignored this and summoned a small side table from my sitting room. When he'd arranged it to his satisfaction he called, " Freiki?"

I yelped and scooted backward as a house-elf appeared nearby with a resounding crack.

"Ah, there you are," he said. "If you would, Freiki, a light meal." He looked to me, raising one eyebrow questioningly. "Soup?"

I nodded. My throat still felt raw from the ordeal yesterday and I had no interest in eating anything too heavy.

"Whatever is available in the kitchens will be sufficient," he said, turning back to the elf who waited patiently. "And something to drink." He looked to me again. "Pumpkin juice?"

I made a grimace of disgust.

"Muggle household?" he guessed. "I'm not fond of it myself. Orange juice, then," he told the elf. "Thank you, Freiki." With a bow, the elf was gone.

Professor Snape stood quietly, staring at the spot where the house-elf had stood, thumb stroking his lower lip, lost in thought. I knew from experience not to interrupt.

"You are not a pureblood witch?" he asked finally.

What did that have to do with anything? Were we going to discuss blood status over a bowl of soup?

"No, I'm...my parents were Muggles."

"And your siblings?"

"Only child," I said, shrugging my shoulders. Exactly where magical ability had popped up in my family tree was anyone's guess.

"Then it's possible blood status may have an effect on the rate of absorption and the efficacy of the modified Croceus," he said. "We'll need to account for it in our follow-up studies."

"One thing I don't understand," I said. "Why did I have to induce a Pepperup reaction at all? Not that it wasn't perfectly delightful, but why couldn't I have taken the modified Croceus on its own?"

He sighed and began pacing around the room. "We failed to keep proper records while I was ill, so it was necessary to duplicate the experience with another adult test subject."

"Well, yes, but there wasn't any way…"

"It couldn't be helped," he said.

"Wait, are you letting me off the hook for something I couldn't have possibly foreseen? How was I supposed to take notes?"

At that, the house-elf reappeared bearing a large tray with a tureen of soup, a loaf of crusty bread and a carafe of juice, condensation glistening on the sides. I'd never seen anything more beautiful in my life. The elf floated the tray to the table with a snap of long fingers.

"That will be all, Freiki, thank you," Professor Snape said.

"Are you joining me?" I asked, spoon poised over the tureen.

He shook his head. "I need to begin brewing the Croceus. Many students were looking unwell at dinner tonight and I expect the Infirmary will begin filling up tomorrow. We'll need to have enough doses ready."

I looked longingly at the brimming bowl of soup I'd served myself. "Let me help you," I said.

"Have something to eat first," he said. His mouth set in a grim line. "I'll need to inform Madam Pomfrey of our plans before we begin."

I shuddered. "Good luck to you."

With a stiff nod in my direction, he strode from the room, slamming the door to my quarters behind him.


	8. Epilogue

"You know, some of us prefer the typical gloomy London weather." I shielded my eyes against the brilliant, relentlessly cheerful sunlight reflecting off every surface in the lobby of St. Mungo's.

The clerk at the reception desk snorted. "Tell it to the administrator in charge of the charmed windows."

"What's it's actually like out there?"

"It's pis…..raining quite hard," the clerk corrected herself. "I forgot you're higher level now."

I ran my hand over my robes self-consciously, the fabric so crisp and new it practically crackled under my fingers. I still felt like an outsider even though I'd been back at St. Mungos for months. I found it almost surreal to navigate the old familiar halls, to pass the dispensary and call out a hello to my old work mates and then walk past the department to my own office.

"I'm waiting for a friend of mine," I said. "He was due a while ago. I don't suppose you've seen a tall, glowering man dressed entirely in black?"

The clerk's eyes widened at the exact moment I felt someone loom over me.

"I see you haven't lost your knack for sneaking up on people," I said, turning to face him.

"While you still have the uncanny ability to remain completely oblivious to your surroundings." He narrowed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose. "And I do not glower."

"Well, what do you call the expression on your face right now?" I brushed away some of the rain droplets beading on his cloak.

"Second thoughts about coming here to see you." He shot a look at the clerk who was sitting and listening intently, chin in hand. "Is there somewhere more private we can talk?"

His note this morning informing me of his visit had been both vague and terse. I searched his face for any hint of his mood. He appeared tense, tired and in a bad temper. Business as usual, then.

"Severus, please tell me nothing is wrong."

"Nothing is wrong," he said. "But I'd rather not discuss our business out here."

"My office, then?"

With a curt nod, he began walking in the direction of the lifts but I guided him past the reception desk and through a set of double doors instead.

"This way," I said, using my wand light to illuminate a dark, narrow staircase. We ducked slightly on the last tread to avoid an overhead beam.

"It's a bit out of the way," I said, as we wound our way down a twisting corridor past darkened rooms used mostly for storage.

"There wasn't an abandoned cave available?"

I couldn't read his expression in the dim light, but I thought I heard a hint of amusement in his voice.

"I needed to be in close proximity to the dispensary," I said.

"Ah." He stood aside to let me enter the office first. "And St. Mungo's no longer uses couriers?"

I started lighting candles around the room before I answered.

"If you must know, I originally had an office on the third floor with a charmed window. It drove me to distraction." I shrugged. "I miss the dungeons, if I'm being honest."

He paced around the small space, hands behind his back, pausing only to study the photos on the wall or to flick randomly through the journals on a table.

"It's good to see you," I said.

His glance took in my white robes. "However do you keep those clean?" he asked, ignoring my attempt at small talk. "I don't remember you ever being particularly tidy at your tasks."

I crossed my arms and lifted my chin, feeling a little defensive. "I have my hands full coordinating trials amongst three different hospitals and five field teams. I don't have much time for hands-on potions work at the moment."

He remained silent. As he made another circuit of the office, I wondered idly if he were ticklish. I was ready to resort to drastic measures to get to the bottom of his visit. I had plenty of work waiting for me, my desk piled with reports to sign off, personnel assignments to approve, Ministry travel arrangements to be filed in triplicate, but I knew he could not be rushed. Just to have something to occupy myself, I started a fire, watching as the tinder caught and the logs began to blaze. I didn't feel cold exactly, only tense and expectant and craving the warmth.

He finally settled himself at the small worn table in the corner of my office, my only relic from my interrupted apprenticeship. I preferred working there. I knew every ink stain and gouge on its surface. On particularly stressful days, if I rested my head against the wood and closed my eyes, it was easy to imagine myself back in the office at Hogwarts.

I sat across from him. He did look tired. More so than I remembered. Perhaps travel didn't agree with him. He was not one to be forthcoming with a lot of personal detail and I realized with a pang of guilt that since I'd left, despite all our correspondence, I'd not once asked after him.

"You've been well?"

"Reasonably." With one finger, he idly traced a particularly large stain on the desk surface. "The odd case of Occamy flu is still popping up here and there amongst the students."

"And staff members?"

He shrugged. "We've had a bit of difficulty. The student's immune response after treatment with the modified Croceus is robust; the adults, less so. The reinfection rate remains high."

"I wish you'd mentioned it," I said as I rummaged in a pile of paper. I located the preliminary report and passed it to him. "We've only just started experimenting with astragalus to improve the immune response. We're waiting to test it in the field."

He read for a moment, face expressionless and suddenly I was whisked back to my apprentice days, watching for any reaction from him, holding my breath, waiting for his approval.

"It's all fine-tuning at this point," I said, my nerves getting the best of me. "The modified Croceus is far from a universal cure."

"It's of no matter," he said, continuing to read. "Pepperup is not a universal cure for the common cold. There are always improvements to be made. It's the nature of our work."

For some reason, I felt inordinately pleased at those words, "our work."

"Interesting," he murmured as he finished. "This was Hristov's suggestion?"

"Yes," I said. "Petar is more schooled in the eastern traditions and his work has been invaluable. We were fortunate he agreed to join us."

He laid the parchment aside and fixed me with a stern look. "Before you ask, the answer is still no."

Throughout the process, he'd been surprisingly reticent and modest, lending his expertise, guiding me as best he could when I ran into trouble, co-writing articles but always reluctant to participate in meetings, panels, symposiums or field trials.

"I wish I could convince you, Severus. The potions masters on our team are skilled enough, but no one has your unerring intuition."

He flicked an imaginary piece of lint from his immaculate black robes. "I do not work well in a group," he said finally. "And I do not care for hospitals in any capacity."

He sat back in his chair, letting his eyes drift shut momentarily. Even in the soft candlelight, he appeared weary. I would have to approach the subject in a roundabout manner.

"Let me check with the potions team on duty before you leave," I said. "If there are samples ready, you should take along a supply in case you…."

His eyes opened then and his forehead creased in a frown.

"... in case any staff member is in need of it." I added hastily.

"And I should report back to you, I assume."

"The data would be useful in our studies," I said.

"I'm not sure I relish being one of your test subjects."

"I didn't care for it either," I reminded him. "I don't think anyone enjoyed it, for that matter. Do you think Poppy has forgiven us yet?"

"She is beginning to thaw," he said. "She did pass a plate the other morning at breakfast without her usual impertinent suggestion as to what I could do with it."

We both turned as the door to my office crashed open into the adjoining wall. A Healer rushed into the room and started speaking excitedly without looking up, his nose only inches from the parchment clutched in his hands.

"We just received an owl from our field team in Finland," he said. "They've located a wizarding village outside of Porvoo in which 42% of the residents have an active case of Occamy flu." He leaned over the table, spreading out the parchment for me to review. "The majority of the adults are pureblood wizards or witches and all of the children over age 5 are showing some signs of magical ability. Do you know what this means?" He looked up then, his face slightly flushed with excitement. He made direct eye contact with Severus and startled. I thought I saw him visibly pale.

"I beg your pardon," he said. "I didn't realize you had a visitor."

"Professor, I'd like you to meet Healer Demarcus."

Severus regarded him with one eyebrow raised, saying nothing.

"Healer Demarcus," I said. "This is Professor Snape. I apprenticed under his tutelage at Hogwarts."

"A pleasure," he said, then turned back to me, continuing exactly where he left off. "The timing couldn't be better. And the village is remote. I'm not sure anyone has heard of our studies, so there shouldn't be any worries about observational bias. This is brilliant!"

"Can we talk about this in a little while?" I handed the parchment to him and gave him a gentle nudge toward the door, which did nothing to dispel his enthusiasm.

"We'll need to put a team together for the trial," he continued. "There aren't enough participants for a double-blind but we should get some useful data. I may be able to get away, depending on how quickly I can arrange for a locum in the ward. I think four Healers and our usual support staff should do, don't you?"

"We'll talk about it later."

"Lunch?"

"I have other plans," I told him.

"But I'll see you tonight?"

"_Daniel."_

When I turned back to Severus, my face was flushed and I felt like a flustered schoolgirl caught out by her professor, which I suppose wasn't so far from the truth.

"Friend of yours?" he asked.

"Colleague," I said, willing the blush to leave my cheeks. I tried for an airy tone but failed. "I don't particularly get on with his father, but Danny's not a bad sort once you get to know him."

"Mm," he said in response. "Rather single-minded, isn't he?"

"He is at that," I said. "Like someone else of my acquaintance."

I felt a sudden need to change the subject. "Let me offer you something," I said. You've been so busy and you made the trip today in nasty weather. I'll send for some tea, shall I?"

"Thank you, but I can't stay long. I'm expected back at Hogwarts shortly."

He withdrew a narrow scroll from his pocket, the parchment thick and smooth, fastened with a cord.

"You were aware the Council met in London this week," he said.

I nodded. "Only because our potions team was short-staffed."

"We concluded our business this morning," he said, handing the roll of parchment across the table to me. "This is for you."

My fingers fumbled at the cord. When I finally untied it and flattened the parchment on the table, I couldn't believe what I held between my hands.

"But this is…"

Seven official signatures, including one in a very familiar hand, were inscribed at the bottom of the document. The words blurred in front of my eyes. I swallowed and tried to control myself. I would not cry in front of him. He never knew quite what to do when I grew emotional.

"I've...qualified as a Potions Master?"

"Considering you're on the threshold of a potential cure for Occamy flu, you've had articles co-authored and published in the most prestigious journals, and you're in charge of coordinating international hospital and field trials, in the eyes of the Council, you have more than fulfilled the requirements for the title."

"But the Sanguinarium," I said, wiping my eyes. "I never completed it. And I'm not sure I'll have time next season when the bloodroot is available again."

"One of our items of business this week was revision of the Masters Formulary. Sanguinarium is being removed and will be replaced with the modified Croceus, pending final approval."

"I feel like such a fraud," I said, running my fingers gently over the surface of the parchment.

"Nonsense," he said. "You've worked very hard. You earned this."

"I fell arse-backwards into it, you mean."

"Many of the greatest advancements in Potions were approached in that very manner." He smiled then, one of his rare, genuine smiles, though it disappeared quickly. I stood from my chair and impulsively flung my arms around him.

"None of this would have happened without you, Severus. I owe you everything."

He patted my back awkwardly, then disentangled my arms from his neck. "Control yourself, you impudent girl."

I think you mean, control yourself you impudent _potions master_," I said straightening his robes where I had rumpled them.

He sighed. "What have I unleashed upon the world?"

"Remains to be seen, doesn't it?"


End file.
